


Surprise

by EchoThruTheWoods



Category: Final Fantasy 7
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-13
Updated: 2016-10-13
Packaged: 2018-08-22 04:30:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8272897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EchoThruTheWoods/pseuds/EchoThruTheWoods
Summary: It's Vincent's birthday. What do you give someone who wants nothing?





	

Vincent woke with a sense of dread. The date was October thirteenth, the time was eight o’clock in the morning, and he had sixteen hours of unwanted attention to get through.

Veld, of course, had risen at least an hour ago, possibly two. Clatters and clinks came from the kitchen, along with the savory aromas of whatever he was cooking. What was it going to be this time? Heart-shaped pancakes? A breakfast muffin with a candle stuck in the top? Or something more October-themed, like a pumpkin smoothie?

Actually, that last one didn’t sound half bad.

Well, no point in putting off the inevitable. If he dressed quickly, at least he wouldn’t end up with breakfast in bed.

The kitchen table was oddly clear of birthday accoutrements. No candles, no flowers, no parcels wrapped in colorful paper and ribbons. Veld had just filled his own plate with fried eggs and sausage patties.

“Morning, Vince. Want some of this?”

“No, thanks.” His stomach rebelled at the thought. It was definitely too early in the day for anything that substantial.

“Coffee’s hot,” Veld said as he opened the morning newspaper. Vincent filled a cup and sat down. Veld continued to read.

“So what’s on the agenda today?” Vincent asked, eyeing Veld over the rim of his cup.

Veld didn’t look up. “Meeting with Reeve,” he said. “Some budget thing.”

Ah, that was it, then. They’d open the conference room door and the whole staff would leap up, yelling “Surprise!” Vincent winced.

“And…after that?”

Veld shrugged. “The usual.”

Right. Cake, punch, noisemakers. Confetti and silly hats, oh gods no. There was no way to get out of it. Whatever excuse he gave, Veld would have a rebuttal. Might as well get it over with.

\---

Vincent hung back as Veld led the way to the conference room at WRO headquarters. A murmur of voices drifted out, and the sound of shuffled papers. It certainly didn’t sound like a party. Veld held the door for him. “Come on, Vince.”

No one shouted “Happy Birthday!” Senior staff members, including  Shalua and Reeve, occupied their usual seats. At the far end of the table, Yuffie glanced at Veld and Vincent, waved, and turned back to her cell phone.

Vincent sat next to Veld. It was coming, he knew it. They were teasing him, pretending they weren’t going to spring a birthday celebration on him when he least expected it. He’d have to stay on alert.

“Good morning, everyone!” said Reeve. “I’m happy to say that I’ve got some very good news. I’ve managed to shake a few extra gil loose from our, ahem, mysterious benefactor.”

Everyone knew the man funding the WRO was Rufus Shinra. For some reason Vincent had yet to fathom, no one ever mentioned him by name. What no one knew was why he’d cut back severely on financing earlier. Well, Reeve might know, but if so, he was keeping it quiet.

“So, it seems we’ll finally be able to take care of some things that have been on the back burner for years.” Reeve began passing out folders to each of the senior staff members. “Some of it is pure maintenance. We’re replacing the skylight in the mess hall, upgrading the lifts, things like that.”

Vincent opened his folder. He read about halfway through the first page and looked up at Reeve. “What’s this…?”

Reeve grinned. “I knew you’d like that one, Vincent. We really need a new shooting range and I can’t think of anyone better to come up with the specs. You can meet with the designers as soon as you want.”

It was just too perfect. Vincent turned to Veld, who merely said, “What? You’ve been griping about the range since you joined the WRO.”

“Well, yes, but...um…” Vincent went silent. The range _was_ old, badly designed; he’d noted a number of safety violations and had had to come up with work-arounds. It was a miracle someone hadn’t been hit by a ricochet. The safety gear was worn out, he’d tossed another pair of ear protectors two days ago, and much of the glass shielding was so badly scratched you couldn’t see through it.

Now that he thought about it, it was appallingly out of code.

“What’s the budget on this, Reeve?”

“It’s there on the last page.”

Vincent turned to the final page. _“Oh._ That much?” This was his chance to go state-of-the-art with the shooting range. He spent the rest of the meeting running figures in his head and scribbling notes, his indecipherable scrawl even messier than usual.

When the meeting broke up, he was first out the door. He risked a glance into his own, seldom-used office. No balloons, no banners. Excellent. If he kept moving, he might avoid being cornered by people determined to celebrate his birthday.

Veld met him in the hall a few hours later. “Let’s get lunch, Vince. I need some fresh air.”

Uh-huh, right, fresh air. Vincent squirmed a bit, but Veld had caught him between tasks. The one person he never lied to was Veld, and he was fresh out of diversionary tactics…well, there was _one_ thing he could try, but not here in the hall, and Veld was already halfway to the door, giving him that look over his shoulder that meant “get your ass in gear, Valentine.”

Veld headed straight for the pub nearest to HQ. This had to be it: Reeve, the senior staff, and probably every Turk Vincent knew would be gathered in the back room waiting to pounce. He braced himself as they walked in.

Instead of a private room, they ended up at the bar. Veld barely glanced at the menu before ordering a pot roast sandwich and waving the bartender over.

“Scotch,” he said, and the man nodded and turned to Vincent.

“Just a red wine,” Vincent said. It was weird; he couldn’t see a single Turk anywhere in the bar or dining room. Where were they hiding?

“I have just the thing,” said the bartender. “We’ve started offering a line of vintage cocktails and wines. Here.” He brought out a bottle with a label that looked oddly familiar. “This is a classic burgundy. Retro, you know. Very popular.”

Vintage, retro. Buzzwords that Vincent was tired of hearing. Everything he’d known in his youth was…wait. He looked more closely at the bottle. “Old Junon Vintners? Are they still in business?”

“Third generation,” said the bartender as he applied a corkscrew to the cork. “Are you familiar with their wines?”

Was he familiar with…? “My father’s family had stock in it,” said Vincent, not quite believing what he was seeing. “We drank nothing else from the time I was thirteen.”

Veld raised an eyebrow. “You drank at thirteen?”

“Didn’t you?”

The cork popped. The bartender poured a small amount into a glass and handed it to Vincent. The gorgeous ruby color, the aroma reminiscent of dark cherries and pepper, his first sip redolent of ripe berries and damp leaves, took him back decades. His father’s voice murmured in the back of his mind, teaching him how to recognize and appreciate the best wines. And this one, judging by the taste, came from the escarpment east of Junon, where golden sun and rich black soil nurtured the finest grapes.

He blinked. “This is a grand cru.” He looked at the label again. How had he missed that? More importantly, how much did it cost?

“This is a set-up. You brought me here just to get this wine.”

Veld sipped his scotch. “You know I’m a beer-and-whiskey man, Vince.”

“But…”

“We’ve got more meetings this afternoon. Let’s eat.” Veld’s sandwich arrived. He offered half to Vincent, who, thoroughly confused and certain he’d missed something, accepted out of habit. They’d done this so many times when they’d first partnered in the Turks.

Gods, those were the days. Some of the things they’d gotten up to….They were lucky they hadn’t both been turfed by the old chief. There’d been that one time….

“Veld, do you remember when we rigged the water cooler with a spring-loaded arm on a timer…?”

“Which dropped a block of sodium into it an hour later.” Veld choked down a bite of sandwich and chased it with whiskey, laughing. “Oh my gods, I’d almost forgotten about that!”

“And it exploded,” said Vincent, “just as Old Man Shinra walked past the office.”

“Thought the chief was going to kill the two of us,” Veld said, shaking his head. He signaled the bartender for another whiskey, and raised his glass. “Here’s to good times and bad examples.”

Either the scotch had loosened Veld’s tongue, or Vincent’s story had primed the pump. Veld recalled other incidents, one or two of which were legendary among the older Turks. Vincent contested a few details, which led to amiable arguing and more drinking. It came as a shock to realize it was nearly two-thirty.

“I think we missed a meeting.”

Veld shrugged. “Ah, well, if two heads of departments can’t take an occasional two-and-a-half-hour lunch…”

“…Complete with booze…”

“…Something is wrong in the world.” Veld tossed a few bills on the bar, including a generous tip.

“I’m paying for the wine,” said Vincent, expecting opposition.

“Suit yourself.”

That was too easy. Maybe Veld really hadn’t known about the Valentine connection to the wine. It was decades ago. Vincent had never mentioned it. His father was long dead. As for his father’s family, they were few in number, notoriously reclusive, and Veld hadn’t been to Junon in years.

Coincidence. Had to be. Except no Turk would credit coincidence, and he was still a Turk at heart.

Veld waited with an air of long-cultivated patience. Vincent paid for the wine and followed Veld out of the door. Damned if he was going to ask what was going on. If Veld could play it cool, so could he.

He returned to HQ anticipating an ambush. Why else had Veld kept him out of the building for so long? Veld never blew off meetings like that. In fact, why hadn’t Reeve called them when they didn’t show up? Had the entire senior staff - and hell, probably all of his friends - spent the afternoon preparing for this?

They meant well, he knew that, but he hated the fuss, it just made him incredibly uncomfortable to be the center of attention and oh gods, what was wrong with him? _Get a grip, Valentine. The world doesn‘t revolve around you. Relax and get back to work._

Stepping out of the lift on the administrative floor, he walked straight into Reeve.

“Ah, Vincent, here you are! Come with me, I have a surprise for you…” Reeve had him by the arm before he could step back into the lift. Veld was no help; he just stood there grinning while Reeve towed Vincent toward a nearby office. “I’ll get you for this,” Vincent hissed over his shoulder.

Expecting sugary desserts, balloons, streamers, birthday cards filled with glitter that was going to get _everywhere_ , and Yuffie jumping out of a giant cake because that was just the sort of thing she thought was hilarious, he gritted his teeth and walked into the office.

He found one small, auburn-haired girl seated there, her blue eyes lighting up at sight of him. “Vincent!”

“Shelke.” She was alone. No party-ambush, thank the gods. “I--wasn’t expecting you.” Well, that was lame, as well as rude. “I’m sorry. How are you? Haven’t seen you in ages.”

“I’m very well. How are you? It’s really good to see you.” She rose, offering a hand and a bright smile. Still as small as a nine-year-old girl, still somewhat shy, Shelke was a kindred spirit in the realm of the socially awkward. He took her hand, resisting an urge to ruffle her hair. She was in her twenties now, even if she didn’t look it.

Another trait they shared, that eternal outward youthfulness that masked so much.

He perched on the edge of the desk. “So what’s up? Are you visiting Shalua?”

“No, I had another--I mean, yes, that, too, but besides that I also had to come because, I mean, there’s--I have--”

“Shelke, deep breath!”

“…Ahhh, yeah. Um. Vincent?” She looked up at him, her face suddenly serious. “Vincent, I have something for you, and I hope you’re okay with it.”

A backpack lay on the floor near her chair. She rummaged in it, and handed him a book.

“What’s…?” He went still, as the meaning of words on the cover sank in. “‘A Treatise on Dark Mako: Its Relationship to History, Myth and Science.’” For just a moment, his tongue froze; he couldn’t make a sound. Saying the name took an effort of will. “By…by Doctor Lucrecia Crescent.”

He opened the book, scanning the title page. Shelke pointed to the lines beneath the title. “As transcribed by Doctor Shalua Rui.” She grinned. “With the assistance of Mr. Vincent Valentine. Isn’t it amazing?”

“I--it’s incredible.” He flipped pages, from the table of contents and the preface to various diagrams, to the meat of the work, the detailed and painstakingly-developed theories that Lucrecia had poured her heart and soul into. It was all there, along with attributions to his father, and even the original photos of the cave where--

He blinked, hard, and let out the breath he’d been holding. Shelke’s eyes were huge, her face pale. “Vincent, is it all right? Are you all right?”

“Fine. No. _Better_ than fine.” He put the book down, and threw his arms around her, lifting her off her feet, awkwardness be damned. “Thank you. I never thought I’d see this! It’s wonderful, Shelke.”

She pulled away, but gently. “It’s long overdue. I wanted you to have your own copy. It will probably only be available in some pretty rarefied circles - university science departments and libraries, places like that. So I brought one to you.”

Today, of all days. She couldn’t possibly have known. Could she? The gods--and a certain ex-Turk--worked in mysterious ways. “I appreciate it more than I can say. And.…” He grinned. “The next time I see Shalua, I’m going to ask her to autograph it for me.”

\-----

Dusk came early in October. Vincent left HQ around eight o’clock, Veld beside him. Vincent eyed his partner sidelong. “You’ve got that cat-and-canary look on your face.”

Veld smiled. “Do I?”

“Yes, and don’t think I--” Vincent stopped, lifting his head. “Do you smell something burning?” He turned, scanning the street. Above the shadowed houses, he spotted an orange glow. “Veld, something’s on fire!”

“It’s okay, Vince. Come on.” As calm as ever, Veld led the way around the corner. Halfway up the next street, a large mound of wood burned merrily, surrounded by enthusiastic watchers and a few WRO-uniformed guards. “It’s just a bonfire.”

Vendors had set up small tents along the sidewalks, leaving space in the street for dancing and games. The air was fragrant with roasting nuts, hot chocolate, grilled sausages, and other delicious aromas. Groups of children ran past, laughing, and at the end of the street a band was tuning up, with acoustic guitars, violins and hand-held drums.

“I never heard this was happening,” Vincent said, following Veld toward the vendors.

Veld shrugged. “Can I help it if you don’t pay attention to local events?” He bought two cups of hot cider spiced with star anise and cinnamon, handing one to Vincent. “Come on, spook, let’s walk.”

Where had these people found enough wood to burn for a party? Surely someone had paid to bring it into Edge; Reeve, probably. It was clean wood, a little earthy, like oak, a little sweet, like apple. The warm scent worked its magic, mixing with the tart cider, the crisp night air, and the solid comfort of Veld’s arm linked with Vincent’s. The book in his pocket was icing on the metaphorical cake.

“Veld,” said Vincent dreamily, watching sparks dance over the bonfire, “I know you had something to do with all of this.”

“All of what?”

Vincent waved a hand. “Everything. The whole day. Letting me sleep late, the new shooting range, the wine, the two of us trading stories…all of it.”

Veld just looked at him, flames glowing in his amber eyes. Vincent snorted.

“You’re not fooling me. At the end of the day, you’re the Turk’s Turk. When they made you, they broke the mold. You probably even had a hand in this.” He pulled out the book.

Veld glanced at it and smiled. “About time,” he said, sipping cider.

“It was all wonderful,” Vincent said. “Unexpected and perfect. And I love you for it.”

Veld met his eyes. “Early night?”

“Oh, you’d better believe it.”

 

THE END ;)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much to WandererRiha for the idea of Lucrecia's book. She also graciously contributed the book's title and provided commentary that tightened up the text. *waves* Thanks again Riha!!


End file.
